“I don’t like the state of affairs, doctor,” I said. “I fear there’s mutiny on the way.”
“Why?” he said.
“The men are growing so discontented with their provisions; but hush, here they are.”
The doctor’s nephew was standing by me as the crew came up, looking fierce and angry.
“What’s the matter, my lads?” I said, when they all came close to me, and thrust their tongues in their cheeks.
“Look here, skipper,” said Binny Scudds, who seemed to be leader, “we’ve had enough of this here!”
“My good man,”—began the doctor.
“Now that’ll do, old skyantific!” cried Binny. “We’ve had enough of you. Who’s been doin’ nothin’ but waste good, wholesome sperrits, by stuffing black beadles, and dirty little fishes, and hinsecks in ’em, till there ain’t a drop fit to drink?”
“But, Scudds—” I began.
“That’ll do!” he shouted fiercely; and he threatened me with an ice pick. “We’ve had enough of it, I tell yer!”